AN: This fic
has been a work-in-progress for quite a while, a labor of love. I've actually
been working on it slowly but surely for about, oh, four months or so. Started
by a conversation with my pal FMP
and spurred on by a few really bad
days right in succession.

Oh, and I would like to
dedicate this to fireblazie, whose
writings I love and enjoy, and who inspired me to write my first stand-alone
Heiji/Kazuha fic. And another thank you to Fred
the Mutant Pickle, my faithful beta-reader and muse, who lets me babble on
and on about the wondrous things that happen when my two brain cells manage to
connect inside the empty voice that is my head, and then reads the results.

I don't own Detective Conan.
I hope you enjoy my fic.

o

o

o

Holding His Gaze

They
found him early Tuesday morning.

Two
joggers, out for an early run, stumbled across the horrible sight. The only
reason they even found him was because one of them happened to glance down as
they were crossing the bridge, and caught a glimpse of a slumped form on the
ground beneath the bridge. At first, they had thought perhaps it was a homeless
person or a drunk who had passed out down there, but upon a closer look, they
saw blood staining the jacket, and called the police.

It
later proved that said jacket was the only thing keeping the body from falling
entirely into the river beneath the bridge and being swept away by the current.
Instead, the sleeve had caught on an exposed tree root and held him in place,
half sprawled on the shore and half in the river. The investigating officers
later said that by all accounts, the fabric should not have held like that; for
all logic, the sleeve might have held for a while, but for as long as they were
guessing he had been there, it should have torn long ago, sending him down into
the water, where he might never have been found.

Luck? Or something else? At the time, no one verbally questioned
what had held him there for all that time, though most speculated privately, or
a few discussed later in rushed, whispered conversations. But sometimes, it was
simply better not to ask.

When
the first ones on the scene got there, they quickly discovered what had caused
the sizable blood-stain on the collar and sleeve of the jacket. The blood had
spilled from the wound that had claimed his life: a gunshot wound, right in the
forehead. The victim had been staring his executioner straight in the face as
he died, that much could be determined. And they could vaguely determine that
he probably been killed late the previous night, perhaps in the earliest hours
of the morning itself.

But
all who came to handle the various parts of the standard procedures seemed
unusually somber. Murder was never a walk in the park, but this one…this one
was different. They all moved aside when the head officer on duty arrived and
made his way to the victim.

The
police officer in question took one look—and blanched.

A
seasoned, hardened cop, and he could barely bring
himself to look upon this particular victim. And he understood why so many
shied away from the body with such unnatural haste; it was the same for them as
it was for him. Normally, they would look for ID on the body, but in this case,
it was simply not necessary. Instead, he merely turned around and announced the
victim.

When
he said the name, a hush fell over the assembled crowd of police officers,
medical personnel, and assorted others. The dullest of disbelieving murmurs
swept over the multitude, like someone had just uttered the Devil's name in the
midst of a Sunday service. They all knew him, every one of them. The news was a
blow to the kidneys for all of them, and not one of them wanted to believe that
the name belonged to this victim, or any victim.

Hattori Heiji.

o

o

The night air was brisk, unusually chilly for this
time of year. A breeze swept by, rustling Heiji's jacket; it was just enough to
send a shiver down his spine, one that he ignored as he started storming
towards home. He wasn't angry, just…irritated.

Another day,
another argument. Just part of their ritual.

And he was mighty tired of it.

They had fought again, a particularly harsh one this
time. In hindsight, he couldn't even remember what the catalyst had been. He
wished he could have remembered what the spark had been, the flame that had lit
the proverbial powder keg beneath them and erupted into the biggest fight
they'd had in quite a long time. It had ended moments before, when he had
stormed out in anger.

He had regretted it before the door had even closed
behind him, but pride wouldn't let him go back. Besides, he was sure she wouldn't
want to talk to him anymore at that moment, anyway. And simmering anger could
lead to more harsh words. Better to wait until blood had cooled and tempers had
burned themselves out before trying again. Better that than going back in too
soon and potentially damaging their friendship forever.

Friendship. Heh. What a word…

Maybe it was time to just come clean, to tell the
truth about something that he himself had only recently figured out, and even
more recently managed to accept. Friendship, indeed.

He was so wrapped up in his own thoughts that he
didn't notice the black shadow behind him, following him, slipping between
buildings as he passed them, not even getting caught in the glow of the
streetlamps. A casual observer might have been able to put it off as a trick of
the eyes, an illusion created by the meeting of light and dark.

But an astute observer might have thought privately that
the shadow looked almost…human.

o

o

Kazuha
knew something was wrong the moment she walked inside. Actually, she had realized
that something was terribly amiss when her best friend had been notoriously
absent from school that day. She hoped it had nothing to do with their fight
from the night before, and had every intention of calling him the minute she
got home.

She
paused with her hand on the doorknob to her home when she heard voices inside.
She recognized her father's, and Hattori Heizo, but there were others she
didn't recognize. Shouldn't her father be at work right now? She listened, and
caught snippets of conversation that baffled her. "…Shizuka can't stop crying…"
"…unbelievable…" "…could have done this…" "…was dumped in the river…" "…we knew
something was wrong…" "…he never came home…"

Her
frown of confusion turned to outright fear when she heard Heiji's name. Had
something happened to him? Apprehension tugged at her as she pushed the door
open and stepped inside.

Indeed,
there were several people waiting for her. Her father, Hattori-keibu, and
others she knew vaguely from the police department. They all turned and looked
at her as she entered. But her own father looked concerned, and Heiji's father,
in spite of his usual stoic demeanor, looked sad. What was going on?

Her
school bag fell to the floor by the door, forgotten before it even left her
hand. She slipped her shoes off and slid her feet into house-scuffs with the
slightly stilted movements of one who was only doing it from force of habit.
She waited, with a sudden, sinking feeling that she wasn't going to like this.

Her
father looked distressed as he addressed her; she had never seen him look like
that before. "Kazuha, sweetie, I…" He looked around for a moment before
seemingly deciding that this was best handled elsewhere. "Come with me for a
minute."

Too
surprised and curious to resist or argue, she allowed herself to be pulled from
the room into a next one. The door was closed behind them. In the foyer, the
small assembly waited apprehensively. For what seemed eternities, there was
silence beyond that door.

That
was shattered when a shriek broke through the stillness—the heart wrenching
scream of a woman in every kind of pain. A muffled thump,
and then the hushed, uncontrollable sobbing of one whose world had just come
crashing apart at the seams.

o

o

Heiji had taken an exceptionally long route home,
hoping that the night air would offer some aide in clearing his head. It was
late, but he figured that it had been long enough. A dig into his pocket
produced a cell phone; a couple pressed buttons, and there was a ringing on the
other end.

He wasn't overly surprised when he got Kazuha's
voice-mail message. Sighing, he left a message—a pretty good-sized one, longer
than his usual "Hi, I called, call me." Another pressed button disconnected the
call, and the phone was re-pocketed.

Better. He felt better. She would probably get the
message tomorrow morning, and things would be fine between them—maybe things
would even change between them. He kind of hoped so.

He shoved his hands deeper into his pockets to protect
them against the chill. He really needed to get home now. His parents would
probably be starting to wonder, given that he hadn't called yet. He wondered
vaguely if they would know that there had been another blow-out…

But thoughts were displaced as a hand collided
squarely with his back, sending him sprawling face-first into the shadows of an
alleyway. Only through severe determination did Heiji manage to keep from
falling completely over. Instead, he managed to keep his balance, and wheeled
around.

To find
himself staring into the barrel of a handgun.

As Heiji's eyes adjusted to the darkness, the outline
of the handgun's wielder became clearer. It wasn't entirely clear, though, as
his assailant was wearing a hat with a brim that obscured his face and any
identifiable features, and his clothing was black.

Black, like a raven…

It clicked in an instant, but he said nothing. He
simply squared his shoulders and swallowed hard, willing himself not to move.
Instincts were kicking in, urges as old as time itself,
telling him to turn and run, to flee from the danger. But that wouldn't do any
good. He would take a bullet in the back before he'd gone two meters. So he
stood his ground.

"You're one of Them," Heiji said flatly. No further elaboration was
needed.

The man—his executioner, he knew—sneered; his
brilliant white teeth almost glowed in the dark. "Shouldn't be poking your nose
in where it doesn't belong, kid," the man in black said,
his voice harsh and raspy, like gravel ground beneath a tire. "Should've minded your own damn business."

o

o

Another
knock on the door was turned away by silence.

Kazuha
didn't want to see anyone. She simply wanted to be left alone. She hurt,
everything hurt so terribly, and she wanted to be by herself, though certain
people (mostly her concerned father) seemed determined that she didn't.

She
heard footsteps padding down the hall, and knew that this latest attempt had
been successfully rebuffed. Sighing, she huddled back down under the blankets
and pulled the pillow closer to her chest. Her breathing came in hiccupped
gasps that hurt…everything hurt so much…

They'd
argued last night—no, that was wrong. They argued every day. Last night, they
had fought, a full-fledged storm of
real anger, instead of their usual mindless bickering, and he had stormed out
in a rage. She had regretted the whole thing before the door had closed behind
him.

When
he hadn't appeared for their morning walk to school, she had sadly assumed that
he was still angry, and she would see him in class. She had briefly pondered
that it wasn't like him to stay angry for that long or to hold grudges. That
just wasn't who he was. Something wasn't right.

But
it was when she had arrived at school and found his absence that Kazuha had
actually started to worry. It was surprisingly quiet at school without him
around; there was far less arguing, and their classmates even commented and
teased about it. He didn't appear all day, and she walked home alone. Something
was terribly wrong, and she knew it.

Her
instincts had been confirmed when she came home, and her world had fallen to
pieces.

She
uncurled one of her hands and looked tearfully at the small object inside it.
Hattori-keibu had given it to her silently and stoically, with only a slight
tremor of his hand betraying his own emotions. That was who he was, though, and
she didn't press the issue.

The omamori.
It had protected him for so long—or so she liked to think. And yet he was gone.

She
closed her hand around it again and hugged the pillow, crying into it.

They
said that his body had been dumped in the river, possibly to avoid detection or
immediate identification, but a stroke of belated luck had kept him in a place
where they could find him. He hadn't actually died there, where he was found.

How
had he felt, she wondered, during that last moment? Standing there, alone,
staring death in the face? And he had been—they hadn't wanted to tell her, but
at her insistence, they told her that he had died of a gunshot straight to the
forehead. He had been looking at his attacker, looking right down the barrel of
the fatal gun. Had he been frightened? Did it hurt? Did he feel any pain? What
did he think about during those last awful seconds?

But most importantly, why? Why? It was
the question that she most desperately wanted answered, and the one that no one
seemed to be able to give her the answer to, and it made it all the more
difficult. She did not know why someone had seen fit to take her dearest one
away from her forever.

She
sat up and looked around blindly, suddenly restless. She suddenly wanted to
talk to someone…someone who could understand what it felt like, to have that
special person absent from her life.

Her
eyes lighted on the cell phone on her desk. She picked it up, scanned through
the numbers until she found the one she wanted, and pressed the button. She
waited anxiously until a familiar voice came on the other end. "Moshi moshi?"

Kazuha
took a deep breath…and despite her best efforts, dissolved into tears again.
"Ran-chan…"

o

o

"Where's Kudo?"

He had actually expected that, but he still was a bit
startled at the question. "Kudo?"

"Kudo Shinichi. I understand he's a friend of yours,"
the gravelly voice went on, the gun unwavering from its position, mere inches
from Heiji's forehead. Point-blank range, no chance of
missing if, or when, he decided to fire. "Where is he?"

Kudo. They had
figured out that Kudo was alive. Heiji had wondered briefly if he would ever
face this, but he already knew that even if he told them what he knew, that
Kudo was still alive, that their poison had failed to kill him, but left him a
child…even if he told them, he was not going to leave this alleyway alive. They
would kill him, and Kudo too, and anyone who they considered a threat.

He'd known this was a possibility since he discovered
Kudo's secret. And he already knew his answer. He'd known for a long time. He
schooled his expression carefully, and knowing full well he was sealing his own
fate, placing the seal on his own death warrant, he said one word.

Her
father lowered his newspaper enough that he could stare at her in bewilderment.
Conan was perched on the end of the couch, peering at her curiously over the
arm. "What's wrong, Ran-neechan?" he asked softly, ever inquisitive and ever
concerned about her.

"That
was Kazuha-chan…" Ran hiccupped, tears still streaming freely. "She needed to
talk to someone, and wanted to let us know…what happened…" She broke down
again.

"Know
what?" Conan asked carefully.

Behind
the desk, Kogoro was watching apprehensively. He had never been good at
handling women at the best of times, and it was at times like this during,
outbursts of emotion, that left him the most at a loss. But Ran was his
daughter, and he was concerned.

"He…he's
dead," Ran finally finished, getting a grasp on herself long enough to relay
what Kazuha had told her tearfully over the phone. "They found him under the bridge
this morning. A gunshot to the forehead. M-murdered…"
She trailed off again, crying for the loss of her friend.

Kogoro
remained still for a moment; then he got to his feet slowly, setting his paper
down on the desk. He moved around the furniture, coming to stand beside his
daughter. He looked completely unsure of what he was doing. And he looked even
more bewildered when Ran suddenly grabbed onto him and continued crying.
Mostly, he just looked startled. The Hattori kid…dead?

But
he wasn't the one most in shock.

Conan
slid from the couch and slipped out of the room unnoticed. He closed the door
behind him, and leaned heavily on it; his well-trained mind was running in
little circles around this one notion.

No
way. That couldn't be right…Hattori wouldn't let himself be…no way.

But
even though his surprise, his detective's intuition was already hard at work
processing the little bit of information he'd been given. He'd been found dead
under a bridge—perhaps he'd been dumped there? The gunshot had been to the
forehead. He'd been staring at his attacker.

Typical Hattori. Stubborn as hell.

But
the fact that it was a gunshot was what had Shinichi the most troubled. Guns
weren't easily obtained. And though he really didn't have any evidence to go
on, his instincts were telling him what he really didn't want to believe.

Had
they finally caught up to him? No…

Yes.

NO.

…yes…

The
mask of Edogawa Conan fell away, and had anyone seen him at that moment, there
would have been no doubt in their mind that this was not a normal child. There
was weariness and grief written on his features that should never have found a
home on a child's face.

Those
were Kudo Shinichi's eyes.

And
he hung his head, closing his eyes.

Hattori…

I know it was Them. I'll
bring Them down for you.

…take care, my friend.

o

o

They stared at each other. The gun remained at Heiji's
forehead, cold and unwavering. But for some reason, his executioner had yet to
pull the trigger. The tension was building, almost to the point of being
absolutely unbearable.

"Turn around," the gravelly voice ordered suddenly.

"No," Heiji said firmly, crossing his arms across his
chest; he had the sudden, startling impression that his own demeanor had
unnerved the man who was to kill him. He could make out the whites of the man's
eyes in the darkness, more so with each passing second as his own eyes
adjusted, and he had held that gaze, refusing to back down or look away.

"Close your eyes," the gunman demanded again, and the
young Osakan detective felt vindicated, knowing that he was right. Not that it
did him much good, but it was a strange victorious feeling, to know that he had
actually intimidated one of the Black Organization's own.

"I decline," Heiji was surprised to feel himself smile. "I'd rather look you in the eye."

And Heiji stared at his executioner, holding his gaze.

The gunman's
eyes widened visibly beneath the shadow cast by his hat-brim.

Heiji wasn't sure where the words came from. But he
wasn't afraid, and he stalwartly held his executioner's gaze. He was going to
die. Here. Now.

He wondered vaguely what would happen now. How would
Kudo take the news? He would undoubtedly realize who was behind it—not that the
chibi-tantei would be able to do anything about it right out, but he would
know. He would find them, and he would see them brought to justice. His own
death would be one among many, many others.

His parents…how would they feel tomorrow? Later
tonight when he didn't come home, didn't call them and let them know he was
going to be late?

And as he thought about it, he realized that there was
only one thing he really, truly regretted…

The hammer on the pistol cocked with a sharp click.

He was going to die.

Kazuha…

The trigger squeezed.

He would never talk to her again…

It was too late now…

There was an explosion, like a firework going off in
his ear, and his head jerked back as a force smashed against his forehead. The
world exploded into red, brown, and then into black. The barest hint of pain
and cold then, as he felt himself falling, and then…

Floating
towards the unknown. He was floating in peaceful darkness, where there was
nothing.

Save for that one desperate regret…

In a place where such things were superficial and
unnecessary, it ached.

o

o

Kazuha
pressed the button to end the call. She felt a smidgen better, be able to vent
to Ran for the few minutes that she had. But it wasn't much. Now she wanted to
crawl back into bed and try to forget that anything existed. But as she lowered
the phone, she noticed an icon on the screen.

A message?

She
frowned. Who…but she already knew. Of course she knew. Who else would it be?

Her
hand trembled slightly as she held the phone up to her ear and waited through
the electronic voice rattling off that she had one new message. There was a
pause, and then…

"Uh…hey,
Kazuha," Heiji's voice, abnormally unsure, echoed into her ear. The sound of it
made her heart ache and tears spring anew to her eyes, and she almost shut the
phone off just to shut off the pain, but she didn't let herself do it. If what
she was thinking was right, then he must've called her last night, just
before…she forced herself to listen.

"Umm…it's
me," Heiji said onto the phone. "And…well, I—I guess I said some really stupid
stuff tonight…but you did too, and—well…" He was
stammering badly, something he only did when he was flustered…or apologizing.
She recognized that that's what he was trying to do, even though he was failing
miserably.

"But
listen…I've been thinking—I know what you're thinking, and yes, I do think,
aho. And…" Stutter, stutter, stutter! "I think we need
to talk. I—I've been noticing that things feel kind of different, and…" She
could see him in her mind's eye: walking along at night, the phone in one hand,
the other hand shoved casually into his pocket, his expression a desperate
attempt to stay cool, in spite of the rising blush she was quite certain would
have been at home on his face.

She
was surprised, though, when he suddenly started speaking a little more calmly,
like he had decided something. It was almost out of character for him, actually…but
it was his voice. "Okay, look. We need to talk. About us.
I can't imagine us not arguing. That would just be weird, and besides, you're
an aho either way you look at it." She would have smiled if she wasn't crying.
"But…I really hate it when we go at it like we did tonight,
and…" A pause. "Well, we can talk tomorrow, I guess."

Kazuha's
fingers tightened around the omamori. Was it possible…?

"But
anyway," he cleared his throat noisily, and she could almost hear him blushing,
"I'm heading home. Don't do anything stupid, aho." A pause, then a softer tone
when he said, "I'll see you later."

And
the message ended. Kazuha sat stone-still, the phone still against her ear. And
after a long minute, the world faded back in. The electronic voice was asking
her if she wanted to delete or save the message. She pressed the button to save
the message, and closed the phone, holding it tightly in her hand.

Tears
still escaped from the prison of her eyes to run free down her face as she
stared at the two items she now held. In one hand, Heiji's
omamori. In the other, the cell phone that held the
precious message of his final words to her.

He'd
been wrong when he had said he would talk to her tomorrow.

But
he was right when he said he would see her later.

She
flopped down on her bed and lay back, putting the phone back to her ear and
dialing into her voice mail. The message began playing again. "Uh…hey, Kazuha. Umm…it's me."

Heiji
was definitely right…

o

o

Kazuha opened her eyes,
and her tired, wide-eyed expression gave way to a fond smile.

Heiji grinned down at her, then offered her a hand. "Ready to go?"

She nodded, and reached up to accept the
proffered aide. The hand that reached towards him was wrinkled and spotted with
age. But the fingers that intertwined with his were slender and smooth. Young hands.

The hand of one barely eighteen summers
old, rather than eighty.

He drew her up to him. "You're always
late. Why do you always take forever? And here I thought you'd be ready." But
though the tone was exasperated and the words scolding, she could plainly see
him smiling. This was a very special moment.

A moment
that had been sixty years in the making.

"I do it just to spite you," Kazuha
smiled, putting her arms around his neck without hesitation or any further
pretense. And she was vindicated when his arms slid around her waist to return
the embrace wholeheartedly.

He had missed her as much as she had
missed him. All their time apart…and yet here he was, holding her, murmuring
unintelligible things into her hair. And they would never have to be apart
again. They were together, and nothing would ever separate them.

No more loneliness…

When he let her step away, their hands
found each other once again, and they left. After all, he had come especially
to collect her. And the two, reunited in the same forms in which they had been
parted, soared together towards the sky, away from the confines of the mortal,
physical world, leaving an old woman's body behind on the bed.

And into
eternity.

Owari

PS. Fred said that he thought the Black Org
guy was Gin, so we can continue to hate him and his Blonde Hair of Evil. I
leave it to you to decide what you think. Also, again, kudos to Fred the Mutant Pickle for
making a comment along the lines of, "Wouldn't Heiji be a target because he knows
Shinichi's identity?"

Thank you for reading.

The author would like to thank you for your continued support. Your review has been posted.